


Persepolis

by tropicalgothic



Category: Naruto
Genre: Ancient Persian AU, M/M, Rasa/Karu but only as a minor ship, She also appears but just a tad, Supposed to be more funny than not, pls don't take this too seriously or you'll get stress marks like Rasa, valentines day gift exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29510622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tropicalgothic/pseuds/tropicalgothic
Summary: Sasori, Prince of the Red Sands, journeys to Persepolis to deliver a plea of utmost importance to the empire’s third King of Kings. But sometimes, things don’t go according to plan-- they go a little bit further than the plan.
Relationships: Sandaime Kazekage | Third Kazekage/Sasori
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Multi-Sasori, Naruto Multishippers Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a valentines gift exchange for [Eggyulksart!](https://eggyulksart.tumblr.com/) Their art is amazing especially if you like Saso/San as a pairing. This piece has been inspired by this particular [art](https://eggyulksart.tumblr.com/post/616948568017846272/dug-up-old-art-and-tried-to-fix-the-glaring) that they created.
> 
> Thank you to [shipcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipcat/pseuds/shipcat), my perpetual editor. One day I will pay you with good sushi. The character of Sandaime Kazekage was also based from their iteration of him. This is supposedly set in the Achaemenid empire but please beware of the wild inaccuracies. I did some research but not enough to really dig into the Ancient Persian court politics.

Sasori could see the tips of their spears from where he sat by the window. The steady and heavy march of the Immortal Guard heralded the arrival of royalty.

“ _He_ is coming.”

Sasori jumped off from his perch and made for the mirror-- not a hair out of place, as expected. He straightened his robe, of stargazers in a sea of red silk, just in case.

“My prince,” called out one of his own guards, “announcing the arrival of---”

“Yes, yes, let him in,” Sasori waved for the guard to open the doors. Straighten himself. Hold his head high. Remind himself not to mention the five days he’s been here where all he was served were excuses about how busy the king was and how---

The door opened. Sasori held his breath.

A beat.

His shoulders slouched down, not bothering to hide his disappointment. “You’re not the king.” 

The man who was not the king stood tall, almost stiff, in his blue robes and gold jewels. The harshly carved features of his face made him look old, grouchy and wanting to be anywhere but here. Beside him, two aids held up a stone box. _A record keeper._

His visitor’s kohl-lined gaze bore heavy on Sasori’s much smaller frame. But his voice held a distinct and metered pace-- quiet in the knowledge that this visit shouldn’t take too long. “Your appointment is not with the king,” the man walked past Sasori. With practiced ease, the visitor made his way to the villa’s study.

The Immortal Guards filed behind the visitor, causing Sasori to shift to the side-- the room wasn’t meant to have so many people.

“You are the king’s adviser?” Sasori followed the visitor, hopeful that he was, at least, talking to someone of importance.

“I am Rasa,” he said, simply, already opening the stone box and arranging the metal plates in front of him. “I am the royal treasurer and the person you’re set to see today.” 

Sasori rolled his eyes. No one of importance, then.

The treasurer did not mind him. All the materials lay in place before Rasa, with the guards standing at attention behind him. The only thing not where it was supposed to be was--- “Prince Sasori of the Red Sands,” Rasa began formally. “You’ve been summoned to the capital to---”

“I wish to see the king.”

Rasa sighed. He was a treasurer. He was meant to count gold, and partition it to further the king’s and the empire’s goals. It was meant to be a simple job, a straight forward job. The job description never mentioned anything about babysitting petulant princes from conquered territories. 

But Rasa didn’t have time to argue either-- he had another important, albeit less official, appointment after this. He repeated his statement. “You’ve been summoned to the capital today because of your country’s taxes-- our records show that they always fall short.”

Well… Sasori couldn’t argue with that. He took his seat, nodded, but stayed quiet. 

It would do him no good if the treasurer found out that the missing tax money was deliberate. Not that it was a lot! Just a few-- shaved right off the top! However, in his defense, it was only because his letters haven’t been answered. Damn it-- how many requests to see the king, to speak to the king, or even to just write to the king must go unanswered to justify theft. Some theft. Not any meaningful amount, given how large the Persian empire was. Just enough of a temper tantrum to be noticed.

Even if it did summon the wrong person.

Sasori blinked-- Rasa had been speaking and his mind had been drifting. “Sorry, what were you saying again?”

Rasa pressed his lips together, and Sasori could see all of his thinly veiled frustrations bubbling beneath the surface. “I have reviewed the exports of this country to determine possible changes in the taxes if this would ease financial burdens.” Rasa continued, talking more slowly as if to an economically knowledgeable but distractible child. “The Red Sands specializes in weapons-making. The Persian king has been greatly satisfied with the performance of the Red Secret Technique: Army of 100 men in battle. We’ve also heard that Chiyo, Ruler of the Red Sands, has recently quashed a rebellion in Egypt-- the spoils of which are--”

“I quashed that rebellion.”

Rasa looked up from his metal plates to find Sasori’s eyes throwing daggers at him. Sasori’s fingers tapped, tapped, tapped on the table, daring Rasa to answer. The Persian treasurer briefly wondered about the cultural hierarchy in the Red Sands. Obviously, not all of the exploits are Chiyo’s but being the ruler--- “Excuse me?”

“I quashed that rebellion,” Sasori hissed out the answer, those dagger eyes carving out jagged holes in Rasa’s earlier statement. His fingers continued to tap, tap, tap. “I quashed the rebellion in Egypt-- not my grandmother. She can’t even sit on a horse without falling over.” Moving on from tapping, Sasori’s fingers began to scratch against the table, and Rasa can feel Sasori’s anger in the goosebumps forming on his skin. “She also can’t just keel over and die. Or at the very least, retire.”

The scratch of nails stopped.

Rasa noted the damage on the surface of the walnut table that traveled the Silk Road. His better sense told him not to mention it, nor to put it on the Prince’s unpaid dues.

Sasori said nothing else to him.

The silence stretched between them, much, much longer than the recently damaged table. Rasa wasn’t sure how to pick up the conversation anymore. “So…” he tried, “the quashed Egyptian rebellion had spoils that were--”

“I am aware of the taxes and I will pay them in full,” Sasori said, but his demeanor did not lighten-- it only grew even more annoyed, eyes flitting to the window where the afternoon sun sank. “But only after I meet the king. I need to speak to him about something.”

Rasa closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He just wanted to go back to the palace. In the end, he leaned back and gestured for his aide to clear the table. Rasa knew which battles were not worth fighting.

“The king sees his subjects on Thursdays,” Rasa explained. “However, you should have your servants double check when the king is available as there have been others with previously booked appointments.” Rasa continued to explain the usual manner of greeting the king, addressing the king, who the king is allowed to see unannounced.

But Sasori stopped listening after hearing the most important part. 

“Thursday.”

x.X.x

Sasori dreamt of the Red Sands that night.

He dreamt of his father exiting the throne room with Chiyo-baasama’s crown on his head, and Sasori’s mother beside him. Sasori dreamt of running after his father as he continued walking, and walking. His royal robes were replaced with battle armor. His mother’s dress was stained red. They continue walking, and the castle doors close behind them.

Sasori always dreamt of running after his parents. But no matter how fast he was, his legs were always too short to catch them. His voice was always too soft to tell them not to go.

It always ended with Chiyo by his side, wearing the crown meant for his father. Her heavy hand on his shoulder kept him safe, kept him in place. Even outside the castle walls, he could feel it on his shoulder.

Always just a prince.

He dreamt Chiyo wrapped his arms around him, heavy with restriction. “Alive.”

Sasori opened his eyes.

He was in Persia. Chiyo’s heavy hand couldn’t reach him here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immortal Guard - in reference to the Immortals of the Achaemenid Empire. They are a heavily-armed infantry unit that was both the King's Imperial Guard as well his standing army.


	2. Chapter 2

“What do you mean _Thursday three months from now_?”

A flock of birds fluttered away from the high windows where Sasori’s voice echoed from. 

The Prince of the Red Sands was not pleased with the wait-times.

The underpaid and overworked scribe-and-scheduler couldn’t care less. “Your appointment is Thursday three months from now,” he repeated, waving Sasori away before shouting out “Next!”

x.X.x

While waiting-- oh gods, the waiting---

While waiting for the king’s schedule to clear up for his most important guest, Sasori entertained himself with the capital of the Achaemenid Empire. He weaved his way through the marketplace and found souvenirs he could pack for home. He has slipped into the king’s court and mingled with royalty--- all he needed were the right clothes.

And to duck away from the treasurer who always seemed to be where Sasori wanted to go.

He slipped past the guards and hid behind the towering, fluted columns of red and gold. He stole plump grapes that weren’t meant for him and waltzed past the wall reliefs that carved out the empire’s history. He stole glances from the royal princes and princess-- and sometimes the foreign rulers that pledged loyalty to the King of Persia.

He even stole a space for himself in the palace gardens-- right beneath the fig trees on the Northeastern quadrant where he would rest and sometimes fall asleep. In that spot, Sasori had the best view of the fountain that sat in the middle of the garden and watered the plants with canals that stretched into the four quadrants. Sometimes, the wind would carry the scent of the pomegranate trees that lined those canals.

It was the only place that Sasori was willing to wait in.

Both for the atmosphere and for the number of courtiers that passed by--- at least the gossip would keep him entertained. Foreign diplomats would be chatting with each other. Servants rolled their eyes as they carried goblets of wine. Royal ladies peeked through veils and high windows, their high pitched laughter echoing in the halls. The treasurer sat beside a foreign diplomat--- sat very closely beside a foreign lady with hair the color of desert sand. 

“Hm,” Sasori tucked that information into his pocket, leaned back, and let the scent of pomegranate trees lull him to rest.

x.X.x

Sasori felt the thruumm--- tat-tat-thruum of… something... somewhere deep in his dreams before he heard it. He could feel it reverberate in the bark of the tree he was leaning on. He could feel it being carried by the wind.

Then he heard it-- bright and light notes dancing on the vibration of a string. The melody pranced up and down a scale. It flew high and twirled in Sasori’s waking dream-- before diving down---

And then stopping.

_Why did it stop?_

Sasori opened his eyes.

There was only one other figure that Sasori could see in the garden at that moment. It was a stranger sitting on the edge of the pool, his silhouette reflected in the crystal waters that glistened under the setting sun. Despite the backlit vision, Sasori could make out a heavy robe of purple and gold. There was a sash draped over the figure’s shoulder, with intricate designs and geometric figures covering each embroidered surface. The stranger’s black hair fell past his shoulders, and Sasori could have sworn he glimpsed a smile. Cradled on the stranger’s hands was a pear-shaped instrument, the silk strings that laced around its long neck reached out towards Sasori.

_Play it for me._

Just like that, long slender fingers plucked again. Sasori heard the music of his waking dream and his legs carried him towards it. Briefly, he wondered if this was still a dream. He wondered if he had just seen a god.

Entranced, Sasori continued to move forward until he bumped into… 

Sasori looked down. 

There was a cat at his foot-- but a very large one. Larger than him, in fact. He had never seen a cat with a head twice the size of his own, and with long white whiskers flaring out from either side of its pink button nose. And such a vivid orange fur. Striped black, it looked positively regal.

The cat yawned, exposing large, sharp, white teeth, and then rolled with its back on the ground, already bored of whoever it bumped into. Sasori, distracted by the curious cat, did not notice that the strumming had come to a halt.

“That’s a tiger.” 

Sasori jumped at the unexpected voice so close behind him. He turned around, only to be met by the beautiful stranger from the pools. “A what now?” Sasori blurted out, trying not to stare.

“A tiger,” repeated the musician as he knelt beside the cat. “She’s been one of my companions since I was a child playing alone in the palace grounds.” He laughed, and Sasori could feel his cheeks turn pink. “This is what they do when they ask for belly rubs!”

“Ah,” Sasori nodded. Yes, belly rubs. He was familiar with that, even if his vocabulary seemed to slip away when he needed it most. Not that the sensation of the stranger’s eyes on him, heavy with curiosity, was helping.

“That music you were playing--” Sasori said, fumbling for the better words. It was not often that he did. But he wanted to say something good, something smart-- witty maybe! The kind you would expect from a prince of his stature.

“--was a traditional setar piece.” The stranger beat him to the sentence’s finish, his voice sounding even closer. Sasori looked up and there staring back at him were the musician’s soft eyes-- the color of warm honey, and that settled somewhere in Sasori’s chest. “Did you enjoy it?”

Sasori forgot to breathe.

He could only avert his gaze and straighten himself up. “It is a foreign instrument and it piqued my interest,” his head held high, shaking off the sighs that got caught at the back of his throat, “that is all.” He would not confess more to the stranger with honey-date eyes. After all, the Persians executed the worst traitors with the sweetest mixture of milk and honey.

And Sasori was no fool.

“Well, I’ve seen a foreign beauty who piqued my interest,” the stranger said, moving closer still. “I would like to know his name.”

Alright, perhaps Sasori was a _little bit_ of a fool.

No. He wasn’t. Sasori shook his head and quickly--- “Of course, I am! Beautiful, that is. I am Sasori, Prince of the Red Sands. The _rightful_ ruler of the country if only my grandmother would just lie down and let me have it.” This time, he leveled his gaze at the stranger. Sasori would not be flustered by a common court musician. “And you? Who are you?”

The stranger bowed to him, graceful as royalty. “I am--”

“There you are!”

Both the musician and Sasori turned to see the royal treasurer stomping towards them. _Good_ , Sasori thought to himself. “Rasa, I would like you to expedite my meeting with--”

“It’s Thursday,” Rasa told the musician, _ignoring_ Sasori. “You have an audience on Thursdays, remember?”

“Oh, of course! Yes, Thursdays. I remember. I would _never_ skirt on the royal duties to--”

“Play with your pet tigers?”

“Yes! Exactly! I would never dream of doing that. Come, cousin. Let’s go--” then a pause, and the musician turned back to Sasori. He took the prince’s hand and laid a kiss on it. “We must continue this conversation. I would love to hear about this gorgeous land you come from--- it was called the Red Sands, yes?”

Sasori, more than a little stunned, could only nod his head. A few seconds pass before he’s able to get more words out. “I’ll be in the area tomorrow.”

“Excellent.” The musician handed the setar to a courtier who stood beside him. “Tomorrow then.” He walked off towards the audience hall.

A beat.

And then a horde of the Immortal Guards rushed towards the musician’s side, almost knocking Sasori over. They were closely followed by the musician’s cats-- oh, the musician’s _three_ cats. He rolled his eyes. “Why did you bring even more guards?” Sasori snapped at Rasa. “They never fit in the places you go.”

“Those aren’t my guards,” Rasa replied. Then, he paused, considering Sasori’s presence. “You’re not supposed to be allowed in these gardens. Only the royal family comes here.”

_Whops._

“Whatever,” Sasori shrugged and strolled aways, “It’s late, I should be going home.”

No reply followed. It seemed the treasurer couldn’t even be bothered to escort Sasori home. Typical.

Just then, a voice from the audience hall cried out “Announcing the arrival of The Great King!” Sasori turned to the audience hall’s open gates. He could go in. “King of Kings, King of Persia, King of Countries…” Maybe he could meet the king while he was on his way out. Maybe he could---

A laugh cut through the announcement and Sasori turned to its source. The treasurer, with all his grouch wrinkles softening into a smile, stood beside the foreign courtier who held the setar as she laughed at something. His eyes warm, like milk and honey. Rasa tucked the girl’s hair, the color of desert sand, behind her ear.

“...the Third!” Came the voice from the audience hall before the gates slammed shut. But for some reason, his mind was caught in something else.

Sasori thought of the setar player-- and a feeling he couldn’t name settling somewhere in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paradise Garden - A paradise garden is a specific architecture of gardens that were popular in the Achaemenid empire. They are traditionally rectangular gardens cut up into quadrants like a cartesian plane-- with a pond, a fountain, or a general water element in the middle. Often, there are channels that bring the water into four directions.
> 
> Setar - a three-stringed Iranian musical instrument from the lute family
> 
> King title - this is not of my own creation and comes from the full titular address of King Darius I "Great king, king of kings, king in Persia, king of the countries, Hystaspes' son, Arsames' grandson, an Achaemenid"
> 
> Milk and Honey and Scaphism - a method of execution that entailed trapping the victim between two boats, feeding and covering them with milk and honey, and allowing them to fester and be devoured by insects and other vermin over time.


	3. Chapter 3

Sasori saw the setar player in the garden the next day, by the pools. He sat close enough to the musician to observe how he handled the instrument-- close enough to catch a whiff of perfume. Pomegranates. Often, the musician would offer to play a melody for him, with the large cats lounging about them. When the setar player left for his afternoon errands, Sasori lay beneath the pomegranate trees on the other side of the garden. He summoned the half-memorized melody that the setar player showed him earlier.

Sasori saw the setar player again the day after that. And the day after that. And the day after that one.

Of course, Rasa would sometimes come and try to shoo him away. Then, he would nag Rasa to expedite his audience with the king. Not that the treasurer ever actually listened to him--- all he ever did was look at Sasori with surprise and shake his head, mumbling something like ‘Unbelievable’ under his breath.

No matter. If Sasori spent his days with the court musician with honey-date eyes, he could keep himself entertained. It was hard not to be a fool in this garden. That man always listened to him-- when he shared what he liked about Persia, when he shared stories of his trip to the local marketplace, when he shared his favorite food (both in Persepolis and back at home).

Once, they shared a bottle of wine and local delicacies right on the side of the pool while the servants lit the torches and the cats played. His companion didn’t carry the setar with him that day, but his voice and the simple ‘hmm’ he would give whenever Sasori spoke felt like music enough.

“I know I can be a good ruler.” Sasori took another sip of the wine. “And it is my birthright--- but my grandmother is too afraid of putting me in the same position where my father died.” His lips curled into a snarl as he finished the contents of the cup.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the musician lounging comfortably against the edge of the pool. His purple robes draped over the carpet that had been brought out for them. His companion nodded his head, urging Sasori to continue.

But what more was there to say? Sasori looked at the cup in his hands, gazing at his distorted reflection on the golden surface. His father’s eyes stared back at him. “I will not die.”

Funny how the servants just let the courtiers borrow gold goblets for an evening picnic. Sasori laughed and put the goblet down. That’s too much intimate talk for someone whose nam--- 

“You know what,” Sasori said, turning to the setar player, “You’ve been keeping me entertained for about a week or two now and you still haven’t told me your na--”

Sasori felt a hand over his.

“Yes?” came the voice that sang like the setar’s strings in his waking dream.

He’s forgotten what he was about to ask.

“I am sorry for your father’s death,” the setar player said, the hand holding his tighter. “And robbed of your birthright-- that compounds the tragedy. But--” he leaned in close, “if I may be so bold as to suggest that ruling might not be your true goal.”

Sasori blinked and furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you me--”

“You wish to rule in the same way children wish to walk around in their father’s armor-- scale coats that are so big they drag on the floor. Looking back and hoping to see someone proud of them, someone who loves them. You wish to wear the title of a ruler like a warm embrace from someone who---”

“That is a lie!” Sasori hissed. He stood up, knocking down the wine they had been enjoying. “I wish to rule the Red Sands so I can amass an army large enough to crush the country that killed my parents.” His foot dug into the ground, crumpling the purple carpet beneath them. “I have been raised to appreciate military strategy. My reasons are clear, logical, and have _nothing_ to do with something as _stupid_ as love.”

Sasori’s chest heaved. His throat felt tight, and his chest even tighter-- as if the setar player hit a bull’s eye that no one else could see.

His companion could only look at him with soft honey-date eyes. Somehow, it felt worse than salt on open wounds. An execution of milk and honey.

“I apologize,” the setar player kept his voice even-- regal even as he sat still looking up at Sasori. “Many people come to me for advice and insight-- I should not have offered when I wasn’t asked.”

Sasori’s chest heaved. Being raised in military strategy and the language of the court--- and he could not find the words to parry something said like that. He thought of his tightening chest, the hand over his, and the scent of pomegranates.

Then, he thought of his pride and stormed away.


	4. Chapter 4

“Get me an audience with the king.”

Rasa sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand you, Sasori.”

“Why? Did I stutter?”

“No,” the treasurer shook his head, “but for the past week you’ve spent all of your time here with---”

“You’ve been spying on me!”

Rasa closed his eyes. Some days, he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. Perhaps, he shouldn’t have visited Sasori that day--- he was just supposed to enjoy this quiet walk in the garden before meeting someone. He preferred it to become quiet again. “What do you want exactly, again?”

“I want an audience with the king.”

“As in a formal one, as opposed to your usual---”

“Yes!” Sasori hissed, “I want a formal audience with the king!”

“No,” Rasa said, walking past him. “Not until your appointed schedule and the full payment of your country’s taxes.” He paused. “And interest.” That bit was for the constant imposition on Rasa’s time.

Sasori kicked the pebbles that drew shapes and spirals across the garden. The servants just fixed it, recently--- a new month, new look. But Sasori didn’t care. He didn’t care much for the garden these days. Too many people running around, too much music in his mind, and too many pomegranates and their tart scent wafting in the air. Too much stupid things like love.

He shot a glare at the treasurer’s back, determining that the whiff of Rasa’s perfume and the darker kohl beneath his eyes meant that he was one of those stupid people too.

“Fine,” Sasori walked faster so that he would fall in place with Rasa, “then I want an informal audience with the king. I want access to his chambers.” If he could get to the source, surely the king would be there!

Rasa laughed at that. “Did you expect me to just waltz you into his room?”

“No,” Sasori stood in front of Rasa, stopping the treasurer on his tracks, “I expect you to build me a secret entrance to his room. That way, I can make the meeting discreet-- if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Rasa simply walked past Sasori. “The answer is no.”

But that was definitely perfume-- a strange mix of one too. Bergamot, with some middle sandalwood and vanilla. /I see./

Sasori did not move from his spot. “Pity, I like to keep things discreet. Like the lady love you keep from your mother. What was her name? I’ve seen her in court but I always a respectable distance from the royal--”

When Sasori turned around, he found Rasa in front of him once more. He couldn’t help the smirk forming at the edge of his lips. “Run that by me again,” Rasa said.

“If I have a secret entrance to the king’s chambers, I might not pass the bench beneath the cypress trees where a foreign princess and a royal treasurer often meet. Star-crossed lovers should be,” Sasori smiled, “left alone to their moonlit rendezvous.”

“I won’t--” Rasa clarified, taking a step back, “build a secret entrance because there already is one. It’s at the very end of the garden behind the gazebo.”

 _Success._ “You’re too easy, Rasa.” Sasori laughed and walked past the treasurer. “I don’t understand why you’re so hell-bent on keeping your little love affair a secret when the amount of court gossip produces a new pair of lovers every few hours.”

“She isn’t Persian,” Rasa said, and then, more sadly. “And I am of royal blood. She could be a princess and I still could not marry her.”

Sasori rolled his eyes. Of all the stupid things these people do. “I thought the royal family kept concubines if they couldn’t marry someone. I’ve been talking to some people in court and--”

Sasori looked back to see that Rasa had not moved. He expected the treasurer to show him where the secret passage was-- for one, he’s never been to the furthest end of the garden and has encountered no gazebo. But there was no tour. The treasurer just suddenly started to walk away.

“Hey!” Sasori called out, “What gives? Aren’t you going to show me the way?”

Rasa shook his head. What did he expect-- saying that much to this strange prince who comes marching into the palace demanding to see the king.

“Hey!” Sasori tried once more, this time running after Rasa. The Prince of the Red Sands would not be ignored! But the treasurer continued walking, and Sasori did not like being out of words. Not for the second time this week. “You are a fool!” He shouted. “A fool who gets hung up on useless things and makes impractical decisions. A concubine still enjoys a high stature in your damn court but you’re bending over backward for what? Insisting on something more /proper/? Falling prey to emotions. Wanting the most fanciful best?” And then, much quieter, “I don’t understand it.”

With a low voice, Rasa gave a reply that sent a quiet but sharp sting to Sasori’s chest-- right at a bull’s eye that no one else could see. “You wouldn’t understand what caring for someone that much feels like.”

In the end, Sasori was left alone in the garden.


	5. Chapter 5

That night, Sasori was left to discover the passageway all by himself--- all the while still cursing the royal treasurer. For his stupidly structured face, and his stupid bergamot perfume, and his stupidly easy impractical problem. Rasa had it good, Sasori thought. All he had to do was count how much money the empire had and anyone could count. Whereas Sasori has to find a way to _rule a country_ despite his _grandmother’s_ excruciatingly long lifespan making it harder and harder for him.

_If I may be so bold as to suggest that ruling might not be your true goal._

Sasori furrowed his brows at the memory. “Stupid musician, and stupid treasurer,” the prince hissed as he stumbled upon the gazebo. He might have found this much earlier if Rasa had just shown him. Still, the entrance was exactly where Rasa said it would be. Behind the gazebo and in a wall covered by vines, there was a hollow spot that gave way when pushed.

The passage opened up for him. 

Sasori entered the opening and walked down a pretty straightforward path. There were no twists and turns; there were no traps; there were no puzzles for him to solve or a sphinx to ask him riddles. It took all of two minutes until he found the opening on the other side. There, he found himself in an elaborate room.

Well, less a room and more a whole open wing. The walls were decorated with tiles that covered the walls with blue stars moving out from a center in fractals. Embedded in the pattern were sapphires that glimmered when Sasori passed them by. 

Sasori walked past the lounge chair with silk sheets draped on them. He only paused at the table that was stacked high with local delicacies when he noticed a familiar golden goblet. His face was still distorted when he looked into it. He continued walking around the room, noticing the intricacies of the king’s chamber--- all the best of the empire in this room.

...all that and still empty of its king.

“No matter,” Sasori told himself as he lit a torch lamp, “I can wait.”

Physically, he could-- even if it was his most loathed activity in the world. But he needed this appointment, and he could wait. He could wait for a minute, which was already too long. 

Then, he decided to wait for two. 

At the tenth minute, Sasori was already pacing around the room.

Thirty minutes later, he felt brave enough to sit down on the King’s lounge chair. 

After an hour, he had curled up on the King’s bed. It was the king’s fault that he was late, anyway. _Who stays out at this time of the night?_ Surely, the king would not mind if he closed his eyes for a minute. The room was dark anyway, and the torch would not stay lit for long.

So, Sasori closed his eyes. Only for a minute. Or so he thought.

He opened his eyes again to a much darker room. Long black hair tickled his cheek and his arms were around… someone. He could smell a perfume-- pomegranates. 

Sasori grumbled something about wanting to see the king and getting this instead. _Stupid musician. Stupid Rasa-- leading him the wrong way._ He wasn’t sure if the words came out. But a hand brushed through his hair.

He did not expect the setar player to be awake. “Are you going to leave, then?” The man asked between his fingers brushing through red hair, lulling the prince to sleep.

Sasori said nothing, but there was one word lingering at the tip of his tongue.

 _No._ He did not want to leave--- he didn’t even want to leave that night he stormed off, knocking down a goblet of wine and weaving through a mass of the Immortal Guards that came out of nowhere. No, he wanted to stay in this bed and in these arms. He liked being held like this and liked holding someone like this.

But that would be… giving into stupid things like--

“I came here,” Sasori said, burying his head against the setar player’s chest. “I came here to set up a formal audience with the king.”

The setar player laughed aloud, and Sasori could feel the rumble in his chest. “Of course, of course,” Sasori could almost hear the way the musician’s lips curled into a smile. “I can arrange for a lunch meeting.”

But Sasori’s eyes were already closed, focused on the rise and fall of the musician’s chest. Only half-listening, he mumbled a quiet, “Good.”

x.X.x

The sunlight woke Sasori up with a gentle warmth crawling up the blankets in the lonely bed. He woke without arms around him, without long black hair tickling his cheek-- but with the lingering scent of pomegranates in the air. He wondered where the setar player went--- Sasori would have to apologize for barging into his room. But he had a good reason! He was looking for the king’s, after all, to arrange a very important meeting. Speaking of which, Sasori had to thank the setar player for---

“KING OF KINGS! KING OF PERSIA! KING OF COUNTRIES!!” The announcer’s voice jolted Sasori up from the quiet of the warm morning.

“Ack! What are you doing here!” Sasori demanded, bringing the sheets closer to him and pressing his back against the headboard. He blinked once, and then twice. But the parade of people in the room did not disappear. “What is this for?”

“The king,” meekly said the man holding a large tray of food, “--he instructed us to serve the royal guest breakfast in the bed chamber and to tend to any other requests he may have until the king comes back for lunch as his morning is filled with appointments.”

“The king?” Sasori asked. He blinked even more slowly this time-- but the parade did not disappear. Instead, one of the musician’s large cats jumped up on the bed and settled down next to Sasori.

The man who spoke looked towards another who also held an equally large plate of food. Then, they looked behind them until everyone was just sharing quizzical looks of all sorts and answers of no sorts. “Yes, Prince of the Red Sands,” someone finally said. “The king… you are… in his bed-chamber, Sir? You slept here in the evening and he wishes for us to take care of you until he returns.”

“Oh.”

Sasori looked down at the large plate of food the man was holding. They were delicacies from his home country--- everything he had shared with the setar player.

/Oh./


	6. Chapter 6

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” the seta---- the king said as he made his way to the elaborately decorated lunch table. The table itself was long enough for 10 people, maybe more, and the food could feed twice that number. But despite the length of the table and the volume of food, Sasori’s chair was set at the king’s right. The best delicacies were set in front of them. Sasori couldn’t even see the end of the table.

“Four minutes.”

The king leaned forward, resting his chin over his hands. He smiled, “What a keen sense of time. I love it.” This time, Sasori noted his robes of purple and gold, and the gold bangles on his hand, and the horde of Immortal Guards. And gods, why didn’t he notice all of these things before. “Now, what was it that you wanted to discuss with me?”

_That is a lie! My reasons are clear, logical, and have nothing to do with something as stupid as love._

“You already know what I wanted to discuss,” Sasori said, refusing to look at anything but the aperitif in front of him. He didn’t even know why he came to the appointment. He already gutted out his thoughts on the matter-- and the king had already seen more in himself than he ever had. “What we spoke about before--”

“Ah, yes,” the king said, folding his hands over his lap. “I remember that.”

A measure of silence crawled past them as both the king and the prince pretended to savor their meal. They tiptoed through the rice, colored gold by saffron. They passed the topic the way they did with the plate of freshly sliced fruits. They danced around unanswered questions while the lamb was cut and served. And with every step and every stride around the conversation--- Sasori found himself meeting honey-date eyes that made his heart stumble, and the wrong words tumble out. They only landed on the question again when Sasori couldn’t take another bite to eat--- long after the king had had his last plate.

The king had the servants clear the table. “After you’ve gotten your request to become ruler of your own country,” the king started, leaning closer to the table, “what do you intend to do?”

Sasori furrowed his brows--- what’s that supposed to mean? Does that mean the king is willing to do this for him? Or is it a test? He opened his mouth to speak-- but nothing particularly intelligent came out. All Sasori could muster was a shrug, and a quiet, “Go home I suppose.” The words felt heavy on his tongue. He couldn’t imagine leaving this place.

“You’re not going to go into battle and aveng---”

“Yes! Right! That’s exactly what I intend to do!”

The king nodded his head, “I see.”

“Well?” Sasori hissed-- or tried to. He tried to come up with the same fire that he had a couple of days ago. But the flame had smoldered and left Sasori wondering what he came here for. “Are you going to declare me the ruler of the Red Sands? Depose my grandmother?”

Sasori felt a hand over his.

“I don’t want to,” the king whispered, leaning closer still like a secret. “But if you asked me, I would.”

He’s forgotten what he was about to ask. “What is it---” Sasori could feel a lump forming at his throat. “What _do_ you want?”

“I want you to stay here, instead. With me.”

x.X.x

Sasori found himself in the garden once more, pacing, pacing, pacing, and pacing. There must have been a spot of grass that turned brown from all his pacing, but what else was he supposed to do.

He remembered the king’s breath hot against his cheek, the hand over his, the honey-date eyes that felt too sweet to look at. _I’ll let you think about it. This is not an order. And if you ask me, I shall make you ruler of your lands._

Pacing, pacing, pacing. Sasori turned around sharply only to bump into someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry--,” cried the woman he bumped.

“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t---- I know you,” Sasori said to the foreign woman with hair the color of desert sand. He remembered seeing her in the gardens--- watching her; watching Rasa look at her with warm eyes, like milk and honey. Then he remembered the way Rasa’s words stung.

_Is it too foolish to want that? ___

__The woman laughed, “Well, everyone here knows you.”_ _

__“You’ve been spying on me?” Sasori wrinkled his nose._ _

__She laughed again, and Sasori was starting to wonder what’s so funny about him. “No, not spying. But everyone knows the king’s favorite,” she leaned closer, “I heard someone snuck into the king’s chambers last night.” The woman feigned surprise, “I don’t suppose you know who that was, Prince of the Red Sands.”_ _

__Sasori bristled and tried to move away. “I was trying to get an appointment with the king.”_ _

__“I thought you’ve been having plenty with--”_ _

__“Let’s not talk about that,” Sasori snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. How long had everyone but him known about his meeting with the king? Oh gods, now he’s starting to act like Rasa. “What’s your name? Are you going to surprise me by being some sort of an important person?”_ _

__She shook her head but held her smile, “Not important. But my name is Karura.”_ _

__“Perfect! You’ve been here long, haven’t you, Karura?” Sasori took her by the arm and brought her to the pool. Paused. And then moved further north where the scent of pomegranates wouldn’t distract him from the question at hand. “Why do you stay here?”_ _

__“I don’t know why that’s imp--”_ _

__“It is,” Sasori insisted. “There’s a-- stupid phenomenon that I need to understand in order circumvent it. I must rule-- but I am being asked to stay. So why are _you_ staying?”_ _

__Karura nodded her head, following the train of thought that Sasori refused to speak out loud. She made herself comfortable at the edge of the pool, tracing shapes on the crystal waters. “Rasa told me that you already know why--- well, Rasa ranted about your last conversation, so I’m assuming you know why I’ve been staying here.”_ _

__“The thing is,” Sasori said, “there is a difference between knowing and _knowing_. I know but I don’t _know_.”_ _

__Karura laughed once again and Sasori was tempted to splash some water in her face, just to keep her on the subject. “I’m staying for a man I’ve fallen in love with,” she explained with a shrug. “That’s all _I_ know. Rasa has other things he’s stressing about-- the particulars, the little details. I suppose it comes with the job description.”_ _

__“But you would give up being royalty in your own country to be--”_ _

__“What’s ruling a country compared to conquering a man’s heart?”_ _

__Sasori rolled his eyes. This time, he splashed some water at her, for good measure. “You’re being cheesy.”_ _

__“I’m being correct,” Karura said, returning fire until even Sasori’s hair had bits of water hanging from their edges. They’ll evaporate, she told herself, given how much Sasori was fuming at her answer. “I mean, I thought you might consider it an honor to be the king’s concubine--- a high honor as he has sought no one else in all the years I’ve been here.” Karura leaned in closer, “I feel the conflict isn’t in that you could conquer the king’s heart--- but that he’s already conquered--”_ _

__Karura felt a large splash of water right across her cheek._ _

__With a mischievous grin, she dipped her hand into the pool. “I hope you have spare clothes, prince.”_ _


	7. Chapter 7

“Am I ready?”

“Almost,” Karura said, smearing red powder just beneath Sasori’s eyes. She thought, together with the black sormeh that lined his eyes, that the red accent worked well for Sasori. Even if that’s not where one normally puts the qazeh. “Here,” she said, handing Sasori some of her jewels. “Wear these, you’ll look prettier.”

“I’m trying to negotiate with the king,” Sasori insisted. “I have to look presentable.”

Karura’s eyes scanned Sasori from head to toe-- from the gold ornaments on Sasori’s hair and those tucked behind his ears, to the red blouse that cut well above his navel, all the way down to his black pants and the gold thigh bracelet peeking from beneath the cloth. “I think you’re all set to make an excellent argument,” Karura reassured him. “Maybe a belt. And something for your hands.”

“Those sound like a hassle to take off.”

“Trust me,” Karura said, handing Sasori a belt with little bells hanging from it, “the longer it takes to get it off, the better.”

Sasori didn’t entirely believe the foreign princess who was currently dressing him up to… negotiate. But she spoke of love and often enough. She’s had it sit for jury after jury in Sasori’s head until… until things started to make sense.

_I want to know what it feels like. To care for someone that much._

“Do you ever miss it?” Sasori asked.

“Miss what?”

“Your own country. Your parents… your memories of it.”

Karura finished fixing the belt on Sasori’s hip. “I do,” she said. “I miss it and I want to bring Rasa there one day. Until I can share that with Rasa,” Karura plucked at the little bells on Sasori’s until they almost sounded like a melody, “I’ll make enough good memories for us here.”

Sasori closed his eyes.

“Okay.”

x.X.x  
“King of Kings,” came the booming voice of an announcer, “King of Persia, King of Coun---”

“That’s enough,” the king said, waving the announcer away. He gave the setar in his hands another strum. “We really need to shorten that script.”

“My king, your honored guest, Sasori of the Red Sands has arrived.”

“Start with that, next time.” The king had put down the instrument and was already preparing a spot for the two of them. Heavily dyed cotton sheets on the ground, a canopy over them. Perhaps, the moon would grace them with her presence tonight. Either way, he has already set up the lamps to illuminate their meeting.

The king did not expect Sasori to come tonight. It had only been a day since their last meeting. And the king was well aware that Sasori might not give him the answer that he wanted. But if it were their last evening together, then it shall be a beautiful one--- beautiful enough to rival the foreign prince who has captured his interest.

“I am not dressed for the occasion,” he said aloud, as sleep had required only pants from him. Perhaps less on certain hot days. No matter. The king picked up a plain black vest and perhaps a white coat to go with it. The rest of him was simple and decorated with gold picked up from different areas in his vast empire. “Send him in.”

Sasori entered the room, a vision in red and black. Is this for their last meeting? Is this for more meetings to come? Who could say-- but the king knew to savor it as he would the plump grapes that were brought out for them.

The king lay on the sheets as the cupbearer filled their golden goblets with wine. “I see you’ve--”

Sasori lifted a hand.

The king pressed his lips together into a silent but amused smile.

“I want to be clear about certain things,” Sasori said.

“Go on.”

“I am not doing this for you. I had plans--- I still have plans and a larger goal. That is what drives me forward.”

The king’s smile faded, “I see. If that is what you wish to pursue, then I---”

“I shall stay.”

The king’s eyes grew wide, and his lips parted, letting out a laugh and a sigh-- relief and joy. “You will stay?”

“Not for you,” Sasori insisted, pressing his lips together and hoping that smile does not reveal itself. “I will stay if a few conditions are met. First, I want you to forgive the taxes my country has to pay.”

“Done.”

“I also want you to change the laws regarding the marriage of a royal to someone who is not of Persian blood.”

The king leaned closer, “I am flattered that you’re thinking of these things in advance.”

“It’s not for us! I mean you-- I mean me---I-- let me finish.”

“Mmhm,” the king pulled back, leaning against the cotton pillows by the wall.

“I mean-- if it happens in the future, then it shall happen. But I want things done early and the assurance that everything I need would be available to me when I want it.” A beat. “That is all.” Sasori snatched a golden goblet of wine-- that was a mouthful.

“My dear prince,” the king called out, “might I ask what this larger goal is… the one that’s making you stay.”

Sasori’s eyes met the king’s, and this time he drank up the milk and honey until his chest grew warm. He imagined arms wrapped around him-- heavy but with something he’s been wanting to feel since his parents walked out of the palace gates. “Someone told me that ruling a country is nothing compared to conquering---”

There was a hand on his hand. Wrapped around his hand. Wrapped around the goblet he was holding with his hand.

Sasori has forgotten what he was about to say.

“Nothing compared to conquering,” the king offered, “Persia?”

The prince, whose hand and heart was caught by the king, could do little more than a nod. The king brought the golden goblet close to his lips.

“Here’s to conquering Persia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sormeh - cosmetics that are kind of like eyeliner  
> qazeh - cosmetics, kind of like rouge


End file.
